He Spent Three Years Hating the Woman He Loved Chapter 09

He Spent Three Years Hating the Woman He Loved Chapter 09

Arthur Brooks turned out to be an exceptionally gentle, cultured soul. For our initial meeting, he wore a soft, charcoal-grey cashmere sweater. He was naturally quiet and soft-spoken, but every single time I articulated a creative concept, his focus was entirely anchored on me, listening with profound respect.

Our campaign collaboration spanned three continuous months. Throughout that period, he never probed into my past relationship or attempted to play manipulative psychological games.

Instead, he quietly noted my daily preferences. Every single afternoon before our creative reviews, a fresh latte—light sugar, with an extra shot of espresso—would be waiting precisely at my seat.

Whenever our brainstorming sessions went past midnight, he would casually offer, “I’m heading out; let me drive you home. It’s right on my way.”

I later discovered his private gallery headquarters was located deep in the Eastside district, while my apartment was nestled in the Westend. Our locations weren’t remotely on the same route.

We transitioned into each other’s lives with beautiful, unforced ease.

On the night of our successful project conclusion, Arthur invited me out for a private celebratory dinner. When he drove me back to my apartment building, he turned off the engine but didn’t open his door.

“Elena,” he said softly.

“Yes, Arthur?”

“I’ve always been a rather straightforward man,” he said, turning to look at me, his gaze incredibly steady and unclouded. “I don’t possess the silver-tongued elegance of a copywriter. But over these past three months, I have fallen deeply in love with you.”

I looked at him, my heart fluttering with a warmth I hadn’t felt in years.

“Arthur, I came out of a very dark, heavily calculated past relationship,” I said honestly.

He nodded gently, his expression completely unfazed. “I know. But your past doesn’t intimidate me, Elena. I have zero interest in rewriting your yesterday. I simply want to protect your tomorrow.”

I stared at him. A gentle breeze rustled the maple trees outside the car window. He looked remarkably handsome, entirely devoid of Julian’s vanity—the way he always slicked his hair back to a greasy shine and stood posing in front of the mirror for hours.

I nodded slowly, a genuine smile spreading across my lips. “Okay. Let’s build a future together.”

Six months into my new life, my phone rang from an unlisted city number.

I picked it up, and Nolan’s flat, exhausted voice came through the line.

“Elena… last night, Chloe completely snapped,” Nolan said, sounding like a man who hadn’t slept in weeks. “She violently attacked Julian.”

I flinched slightly in my office chair. “What happened?”

“Julian went to the state psychiatric facility to visit her,” Nolan explained flatly. “Chloe frantically demanded to know if he still loved her. Julian told her he felt nothing but disgust, and that his sole focus now was trying to track you down in New Horizon to beg for a reconciliation.”

“Chloe entirely lost control. She managed to wrestle a heavy metal fountain pen from a duty doctor… and stabbed Julian three times directly in the abdomen.”

“Is he dead?” I asked, my voice entirely flat.

“No, he survived the emergency surgery,” Nolan sighed. “But the internal damage to his liver is catastrophic. The physicians said he will be restricted to a liquid diet and medical assistance for the rest of his life.”

“As for Chloe, the state prosecutor is tacking on an additional eight-year sentence for aggravated assault with a deadly weapon.”

Nolan paused for a moment before adding, “I felt a moral obligation to inform you. My compliance in playing her fake boyfriend back then caused you immense emotional collateral damage. I suppose this is universal karma… I still haven’t managed to find a real girlfriend myself.”

I gripped the phone, a slow, tranquil smile spreading across my face.

“Nolan, thank you for the information,” I said politely. “But from this moment on, you don’t ever need to call this number to report on their

lives again.”

The line went dead silent for a few seconds.

“I understand completely,” Nolan finally murmured.